


Breaking up is hard to Do!

by quart1146



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quart1146/pseuds/quart1146
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity has broken up with Oliver. She had just handed back his ring. Then the 2nd chapter is Oliver's POV as she gives him back the ring, with a little AU with Thea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete, a one shot thing that I wrote with the Gifs on Tumblr. Both actors have such emotional range by using their facial expressions that it pulled on my heartstrings. And here's what I thought was going on inside Felicity's head at that moment. But then you never can tell. I might decide to add another chapter.

 

Handing him his ring back she said harshly, "And I want you to keep it for good this time, please."

She felt his pain but refused to meet his eyes, knowing she was hurting him, knowing she was crushing his hope.

And she was in pain too. 

His words at the fake wedding had almost swayed her, but she'd forced herself to be strong and not give in. He hadn't changed and after all these years he wasn't going to change.

She knew this.

But it was time to face reality, and Oliver was Oliver and that was the way it was.

He wasn't going to change.

She'd accepted it. 

She'd no choice but to accept it.

Their playing house together days were over, and she was ending this to save her sanity.

NOW!

Right the frack NOW!

But as she watched, he tried to put his mask on, attempted to hide his pain as his back straighten and he inhaled.

Sharply.

Very sharply.

Jesus, she missed him and she knew he was hurting.

She missed him, missed his touch.

Ached for his touch.

And sweet Jesus, he smelled so good.

Like everything she'd ever wanted.

Just like French fries.

Or cotton candy.

Or popcorn.

Yes, all of that and more.

Ducking his head for an instant, she watched as he forced his head up and looked above her, looked straight past her, clearly no longer seeing her.

Flashbacking.

Escaping.

And she knew it.

He was silently imploding.

And she knew it as he swallowed hard and exhaled deeply as her chest ached desperately for the both of them.

God this hurting him was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, even if he'd lied and kept secrets from her for months, even if he'd hurt her, but she had to stay strong, no matter if this was still one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

She needed to remember this was his fault, and she held fast to that fact. 

His fault.

He'd destroyed them, destroyed their love, and they'd nothing left to build a relationship on.

She was sure of it.

However, this torturing each other had to stop. She couldn't take much more.

The pain was too much.

This relationship was over as of tonight.

She'd decided.

It had to end.

NOW!

They weren't right for each other and never would be. 

She had to keep telling herself that.

 And maybe, if she told herself that enough times, she'd start believing it. Maybe she could convince herself, and then maybe she could go on with her life.

Throat dry, eyes burning, she straightened her spine. Turning, she walked away from him, knowing that she was going to cry, no sob for them, just as soon as she got out of ear shot.

"I don't want to let you go." 

His words jerked her to a stop, his voice raw.

And yes, he was hurting, causing her stomach to bottom out, since she knew it.

"I don't want to let you go." 

His sad eyes made her look away.

Yet, unable to help herself,  she turned and looked back at him. She was aching, hurting but unable to reach out for him, too hurt to reach, to hurt take that first step.

However, he stood there looking anywhere but at her with one hand in his pocket and the other hand fingering their ring. Lacing her fingers together to stop from reaching for him, she said, "But I'm already gone.

Forcing herself, she turned again, away from him.

She walked away straight backed, as she ignored, no pretended, that she didn't hear that sound, that terrible wounded animal sound he made as she walked out the door leaving him alone.

No, not never, no, not ever, would she would ever forget that awful sound. 

No, his pain would forever, echo in her brain for a very long time.

But she kept her back straight as she walked away, as she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and leave him behind.

And yes, she missed him already.

So very much.

But she had to end this to stay sane.

#####OQ#####

I realize that this a sore spot (scene) for all of us. Hence the silence on reviews and stars. And I know it was painful to watch and probably to read. I hated that scene but my writing is like that, if it wants written it gets written. Now, personally, I wanted her to take his ring back, wanted her to forgive him and that's the reason the writers didn't let us have it.

They know that there's more drama in Olicity being broke up than in Olicity being together, and there's more viewers pulled in by waiting to see if they got back together. (They are still dangling that carrot for season 5.) I get it and understand it, even if I hate it, but now does anyone want Oliver's POV on this scene? It's been nagging at me today.

And as always thanks for the read. 


	2. Chapter 2 Oliver's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, several people have ask for Oliver's POV. And yes, it's sad but I can't seem to help it. And I had to throw in a little AU at the end but it seemed to work. Let me know what you think.

Okay several people have ask for Oliver's POV. And yes, it's sad but I can't seem to help it. And I had to throw in a little AU at the end but it seemed to work. Let me know what you think.

#####OQ#####

"That's not exactly how I pictured our wedding day."

Turning, he noted, she refused to meet his eyes, her eyes glued to the screen, as she offhandedly said, "I don't know. Being kidnapped by psychopathic criminals has sort of been the theme of our relationship."

His neck and shoulders ached, knowing she was right and when Cupid's face lit the screen, he quickly ended the feed, fully aware Cupid's view on love wasn't helping his case right now, and Felicity'd just voiced what he'd been thinking, saying for years and what he felt guilty about.

Deep down, he knew he'd been wrong, knew he should have never reached for out for her, and knew that happy and him were like vinegar and oil.

They didn't mix.

Mouth dry, he stood and faced her, remembering her words from their fake wedding. She'd given him such hope when she talked of true love changing her life, but now she'd been too quick to remind him of the danger he'd placed her in from the instant he'd crawled shot and bleeding into her car. As always, she knew exactly how to how to press his buttons.

Against his will, his hands trembled, had a slight tick, so he jammed them into his pockets, while he tried to find precisely the right words. Yes, he hoped to sway her so he could finally come home again. He'd never thought he'd missed having a home, but he'd found that he'd quickly come to depend on her smiles and her ability to make him laugh. Oh, how he'd missed her in every aspect of his now lonely life.

And somehow going on with out her seemed almost impossible.

He'd just thought he was lonely before.

Now it was all he could do to cope. If he didn't have the city to save, he'd have gone insane weeks ago.

Unsure, he knew that he couldn't look at her face and his heart ached, as he first stared at her high heel shoes, then he looked above her blonde head before finding her face and her eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he felt dread.

Brain racing, he searched for the perfect words, and heaven knew, he wasn't always good with words, and he needed his words to be flawless now.

Taking a deep breath, he stuttered, "I. . . I want you to know that. . ."

His heart raced, as he stumbled over his words, choosing carefully, "that what I said today. . . during the ceremony."

And he hesitated as she stared him straight in the eye now.

Chest tightening, stomach knotted, he attempted to make her understand as he stated with passion, "well, I meant every single word of it."

Please, forgive me, he tried to say with his eyes as his eyes locked with her. I miss you, desperately.

For an instant, she smiled at him and pure hope welled, rose inside him, lightening the heavy weight he seemed to be carrying lately, warming his chest and loosening the knot in his gut, as she said, "I love you."

Unable to stop himself, he reached out, connecting them, as he squeezed her hand. With surprising strength, she squeezed his hand back, as she said, "With everything in me."

A smile almost formed on his face, just a small, tiny curling up of his lips, before she added harshly, "But what I said doesn't apply to us."

His breathe caught, his chest constricted tightly, and the color drained painfully from his face.

A knife in the chest would have been easier and a whole lot quicker.

But no, with those eight small words, she'd gutted him like a fish, and he looked away as the pain ripped, no tore viciously through him, and he needed to cry out but didn't as she said harshly, "I can't be with you. I can't marry you."

Please, NO, his mind screamed, and the words rushed unbidden out of his mouth, hoping, wanting, needing as he refused to accept her words, as he quickly assured her solidly, "Yes, you can."

Attempting to smile, he tried to charm her, and immediately needed to change her mind, his voice strong now, as he said passionately, "Yes, you can because that's what both of us want."

Clearly, she was what he wanted. Why couldn't she understand that? He needed her to understand that she completed him, and he'd reached the point he needed her.

How could he make her see that they were meant for each other? How did he convince her that he truly required her to be happy? Didn't she know that he loved her? That she kept him alive?

It wasn't working, he could tell as she blinked rapidly and her eyes flickered refusing to meet his.

Stumbling over his words now, he almost couldn't breathe, labored a little, knowing he was hurting her.

"And look, things . . . things can be different. I can be different."

He meant it, and he tried to sound convincing, without saying the word, 'please', without begging, which he was almost willing to do. "And I am promising you. I'm swearing to you."

But, she wasn't buying it, he could tell by the way her shoulders slumped, as she'd looked away from him and pain stabbed deep, making it harder and harder for him to breathe.

God, he was losing her.

What would he do? His mind scrambled to savage this to make her believe him when he said, "There will be no more lies."

Staring intently into her eyes, he begged her to believe him.

For just an instant, he thought he'd had a chance, but, no, then she looked miserably at him and pressed her lips together, before she said sadly, "You know it doesn't matter how much you love me, there's always going to be a part of you that defaults to the man that was on the island."

He looked down because he couldn't stand to watch her face, knowing she was hurting too, that he had caused her all this pain, as she confirm one of his worst fears, knowing she was right as she said the word, "Alone."

Oh, yes, it seemed that he would always be alone, and the man from the island was always going to be what he was, and he knew what he was inside.

Looking up, he couldn't look at her face anymore as she said, "The man who came back to save the city. Alone."

Chest banding like iron, he found he couldn't seem to exhale. Painfully, he found her eyes again.

Her eyes were defiant now ."And sooner than we both think, you're going to be stuck in a situation," he watched as she licked her dry lips, and he couldn't stand it. He looked down when she said, "where you'll make a decision that requires you to hide things from me . . . again."

She was leaving him. He knew and the helplessness of it showed in his voice. "See, you can't know that."

"I do know that." The anger showed in her voice and her expression. "And you know that. That's this life."

Guilt lay heavy inside him, as he tried to defend himself but found only the word, "I . . ." would come out.

Looking up, he prayed for the strength to survive this without breaking down. Assuring himself, he shook his head and reached for his mask as she said almost tearing, "I'm sorry. You know five months ago I convinced you that we could have it all." She looked away as she added, "We could come here to this job and have each other and it was wrong."

He was what was wrong. Him. This was his fault. And as he watched she blinked repeatedly, clearly fighting tears that he'd caused. Again he looked upward before he ducked his head as the guilt bowed his shoulders from the weight he carrying inside.

"And then I thought we could just go back to the way things were before we left for Ivy Town," she shook her head and began to walk away with the works, "Well, God that is as crazy as Cupid is."

Looking at her back, his hands back in his pockets, hating it, already knowing, but he asked, "So what does that mean?"

As he watched she braced her hands for an instant on the computer station, as she said, "It means that it is," she reached for a jump drive from the computer, "too hard to be here with you every night and not be with you. That's not fair to either of us."

Chest aching now, he knew the instant his face fell, knew that his mask had slipped, but he couldn't seem to find it or put it back on at this moment.

Placing her purse on her shoulder, she said, "You told me how you worked some tech magic to return all the money that Adam Hunt swindled out of people. You don't need me. You'll be fine."

Yet, he'd never be fine again, and he knew it. Looking away, his throat closed up, and he wanted to say something, knew he needed to say something to stop this, but he couldn't find the words as she reached in her purse and pulled out a small item.

God, he knew, as she said, "You don't give up. You know that's what makes you a hero." Walked toward him, she said with determination, "But there's NO fixing this." Yet, her voice saddened as she said, "We have to let each other go."

Forcing himself, he looked at her hand as she held out her ring.

Chest aching, he hesitated; the last thing he wanted to do was reach for that ring. Self-hate reigned as he forced his hand to move, reaching as he gently touched her ring, making sure to only touch the ring and not her hand. Yes, he made a point to not to touch her skin because if he did it would set him on fire for her, and he would lose it, he would just fall apart right here and right now.

The want, the raw need for her touch, for the warmth of her skin, was the hardest part of not touching her. It clawed his belly like a living thing as she added, "I want you to keep it for good this time." And he could tell she was also in pain as shut her eyes and uttered the word, "Please."

His chest embraced the ice that had enveloped it again, and he exhaled deeply as he took back his ring, took back the symbol of his love for her. Self-preservation finally kicked in as he looked past her, above her, anywhere but at her. No, he wasn't seeing anything right now. Just white noise filled his brain as he forced himself to school his face and look at a spot on the wall.

Still he knew when she turned to walk away and the thought that he couldn't stay here much longer filled his mind. No, he wasn't going to be able to stay here and watch and not have her.

It hurt too much.

Since, yes, he needed her and ached for her.

Finally, as she walked away from him, he managed to find his voice, normally he'd have said nothing, not tried to fight back, just accepted because he knew it was his fault, that he had caused this, but he'd had to try one more time to reach her, as he said in a raw voice, "I don't want to let you go."

He thought about saying the word "please" but knew it was already too late, knew she was going to deny him anyway. She was cutting her losses. That was the way she was when things got too intense. He'd always known that was the way she worked, since this wasn't the first time. His girl from Vegas knew how to cut her losses, and he was plainly the loss and it didn't help that he knew he deserved this.

But that didn't mean, it wasn't hurting them both, badly.

However, even if he could understand why she was doing this, even if he understood this was the way her brain worked, that that didn't mean that he wasn't bleeding inside.

Yet, his sharp words halted her steps, and once more he found that hope surged, found that hope raced through him, as he stood there not looking, not turning, as she said, "And I don't want to let you go."

But then she turned around and looked back at him. Standing there, he looked anywhere but at her, with one hand fisted tightly in his pocket and the other hand fingering the now hated ring, but he could still see her from the corner of his eye.

He'd noted that she laced her fingers tightly together as through she had stopped herself from reaching and he knew before she said, "But I'm already gone." And then she turned and walked away from him.

His chest ached, hurt. Unable to hold the sound back, a sharp sound escaped his throat, as he gave a massive whimper, an aching sound that hurt, cut painfully, as it erupted raw from his throat. A dreadful sound he couldn't hold back as he realized he'd completely lost her, that they were no more, and he didn't know if he would survive or if he even wanted to anymore.

Unable to stop, as soon as the sound of her heels stopped echoing, he dropped weakly to his knees as another terrible sound erupted from his mouth, knowing she'd just  walked away and left him alone, let him with no hope that he would fix them.

Losing her was worse than the island, worse than the boat or even Russia and all of them were hard. Russia had been past hard. But then, he hadn't loved any of them. Those had been times to be endured and none of it had made him happy.

She did that. For years, she had been forcing tiny smiles, a grin or a chuckle out of him. He had never known how sad he'd been before she lightened his life.

God, he missed her already.

Scrubbing his face, he forced himself to rise, made himself pocket the now hated ring. He would return it to the vault tomorrow and as far as he was concerned it would never come out again. How could he be so stupid to think he could have love or happiness? That wasn't who he was.

Damn that stupid ring.

With controlled motion, he walked over to the wardrobe that held his clothes. Using careful movements, he stripped off his jacket, tie and then his shirt and hung them up. Stripping off his pants, he hung them, carefully making sure the seams were perfect.

How did he live without her? How did he go on? How did he sleep without her?

Well he'd almost stopped sleeping again anyway. His eyes swept the cot he'd been somewhat sleeping on, and he promised he'd never again lie down in the cot she'd bought him and think about her.

So, he'd stop lying down.

He'd go out and hit the streets and catch a nap later, on the floor, when he was exhausted enough to close his eyes and not dream.

This was his fault. He'd been bad, very bad to hurt her like that, and he'd lied and kept secrets and not trusted her, and he knew it.

The darkness inside was descending on him. The evil's dark weight bowed his shoulders, but for just a moment, he forced himself to straighten his back. So what if he was slowly dying inside? So what if, like a fire, she'd just snuffed out all his hope? So what if his light, his chance at being happy was gone?

He still had the city.

The city was his mission, he told himself. He loved the city and still had to save the city.

The rest didn't matter.

And at least he had the city and Darhk was threatening his city, so that was his focus.

Okay, he had a plan NOW.

Eying his suit, he reached and ruthlessly snatched it from the rod. Crossing the room, dressed only in his boxers and dress socks, he threw his clothes brutally in the trash. Never would he wear those clothes again, and he slammed the lid on the trash can with black rage.

Then he remembered the ring in his pocket.

With a hand that shook, that twitched, he pulled the lid off and jerked his jacket out and his hand plunged into his pocket as he removed the ring. In a fit, in agony, he slung the ring across the room then viciously ripped the jacket in half with brute strength. Not caring, he reached and destroyed his shirt and pants before slinging them hard back into the trash, knowing they were nothing but rubbish, and he would NEVER wear them again before he turned on his heel.

He needed to remember that his father wanted him to save the city, wanted him to right his wrongs.

Try to focus, he told himself.

Felicity had been nothing but an extra in the scheme of things, and he needed to remember that, and he had to bury his stupid love and needed to sever these feelings for her, for anything. He knew allowing himself to feel was foolish.

What had he been thinking? He couldn't afford to have feelings.

His roots, he thought, he needed to return to his roots. That was what he needed to do.

Scrubbing his face, he assured himself that he just had to find his focus again.

His relationship had always been first with the city, he promised himself, as he crossed the room and jerked the drawer on his wardrobe opening. Choosing loose pants, he thrust his leg into the pants, first one and then the other, dressing quickly.

But his mind reminded him that he was lying.

She doesn't matter, he told himself. You've done without her for years. You can do this.

You're lying again, he told himself, as he jumped up and grabbed the salmon ladder's bar.

His chest hurt, ached, as he worked the salmon ladder. Pushing himself, he drove himself, ruthlessly putting his body through the ladder's paces. Clearly, hunting the pain, he found he wanted his arms to hurt, needed his body to ache, as he tried to shut the world off. Sweating buckets, he kept pushing himself until he actually missed with the bar and fell, crashing painfully to the floor and didn't even try to catch himself. But he refused to lay there, no he painfully got up and did two more complete reps while his muscles screamed and burned and the shakes set in.

Accept it. You're always going to be alone now, he told himself, just get over it. This was the way it is, and you deserved it.

He needed NO ONE.

The way it should be.

And his chest welcomed the ice, and he groaned out loud. Dropping catlike to the ground, he walked over and entered the bathroom. Blasting the cold water, he stepped into the shower, experiencing the icy water that felt like cold needles as they painfully hit his skin. Embracing the pain, craving it like he hadn't in years, he stood there and forced himself to take it until he couldn't stand it anymore, then he turned off the water and briskly toweled off and then went and donned his Arrow suit.

With quiet and careful precision, he filled his quiver with arrows, and then he hit the streets. He headed to the Glades, to the worse part of town hunting ghosts to fight, hunting robbers or muggers or druggies. Wanting, no, hoping that someone, that anyone would fight back so he wouldn't have to think. Yes, he hoped that he could still save his city because he no longer had any hope of saving himself.

The plan was what was important. His city was what mattered. He could still save the city. All he had to do was put the city first. He would train harder, get tougher, be faster and smarter.

And that damn ring could get swept up and go in the trash.

#####OQ#####

Hours later, he came back from patrol with battered knuckles, a sore body and numerous new bruises, and he'd just began to clean up when Thea came in with coffee. Since the breakup, she'd taken to stopping by in the mornings. Smiling with a cup of coffee for him, he watched her smile die as she looked at him.

"Ollie? Have you been out all night? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little blood. Not mine, don't worry yourself."

"Well you look like hell warmed over. You've been out all night haven't you? Has something happened? Did you and Felicity have another fight?"

Giving a shrug, he concentrated on washing him hand and watching the water turn red before he said, "No, we didn't fight. She's decided she's quitting the team."

Pouring alcohol over his battered knuckles, he inhaled sharply, almost relishing the pain because it gave him something else to think about.

"Seriously?" Then she moved as she said, "Is that what I think it is?" Taking a few steps, she bent, picking the ring up off the floor, and he turned his back on her, refusing to look at it.

"Oh, Ollie. I'm sure she'll come around. She's just upset. Give her some time."

"I don't think so. It's over."

Inside, he beat himself up telling himself that it'd been stupid of him to think he could have happiness. Ivy Town was his happy moment and that was over. Real life had returned once more.

"Don't say that. She's just really mad at you right now. Give her some time. I'll talk to her."

Clearing his throat, he swallowed hard and said, "Don't, okay? Could you just please put it back in the vault? I don't need it anymore."

"Sure, Ollie. And if you need to talk you can talk to me. I know you have to be hurting. I know how much you love."

Shutting his eyes, he tried to control the emotions that were overpowering him before he said, "Stop. Please, just let it go, Thea. I don't want to talk. I want to go on. I'll survive. I always do. But look I want to be alone right now. Could you, please do me a favor and leave me alone."

Thea reached to put her hand on his shoulder but he jerked away from the contact with the words, "Just give me some room, okay?"

"Okay," Thea said, sadly. "But promise me you'll sleep today? I'll bring you something to eat later, and I expect you to eat."

"Don't bother."

"It's no bother. You need to eat."

"I will, just, later. I just need a little time, alone."

And what he really wanted to do was cry out in rage, to scream out in pain. He needed some type of release from the cutting pain, so he turned and walked away from his sister to change and hit the dummy for a while, probably a long while.

Yes, if he hoped to defeat Damien Darhk and his ghosts, he needed to train and the team needed to train. He needed to get his head out of his own problems and save the city.

That was his job, his goal.

Save the city, that was his goal.

Focus, he told himself as he headed to change.

#####OQ#####

Thanks for the read. And yes, I hated this scene. And yes, I had to do some AU Thea scene.

But as to Canon, damn the Arrow writers. A pox on them.

However, as always thanks for the read. And I understand if you don't want to review since I know it's sad, heck it makes me sad, but if I made you feel just comment and say yes.

 


End file.
